


End Game

by masi



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:12:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masi/pseuds/masi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Midorima hopes to win the semifinals of the Winter Cup and also get his old friend back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End Game

The night before Shutoku’s game with Rakuzan, Shintarou goes to bed at 9:00. He is still wide awake when the clock turns 10:00. He reminds himself, yet again, that he shouldn’t be nervous about his upcoming game with Akashi. He has made adequate preparations. He has been preparing for weeks, for months, ever since he graduated from Teiko. The rest is out of his hands.

He turns over, pulls his freshly laundered sheets up to his chin. Perhaps being slightly anxious is not entirely silly. Quite natural behavior, actually. This is the first time he will be playing against Akashi in an important game, one of great significance to his new team and also perhaps to his friendship with Akashi. 

He wants to Shutoku to win and advance to the Winter Cup Final, and he also needs to win for himself. He absolutely cannot lose to Akashi. He did every time they played shogi, in the empty classrooms at Teiko, Akashi with the shadows settling over him, arms folded, barely looking at the board as he moved towards victory, saying _I do not know defeat_. Shintarou wracking his brains, knee jerking against the underside of the desk in moments of conviction, unsettling the pieces and eliciting a frown, and he lost each time. 

He can’t afford to play a subpar game tomorrow. Not after Akashi has made it clear that they should all be proper rivals for each other at this Winter Cup. Not after Shintarou promised that he would teach Akashi what it feels like to lose. 

This will be the first time physically being on the court with Akashi after months. It will feel strange to play against him in an official game, to look past him to read the cues of others. But maybe Akashi will find Shintarou more interesting this way, think him a worthy opponent, look at him properly again.

  


____________________________

  


Akashi has been scouting the whole first quarter, as if he is sitting on the bleachers watching a game played by people far removed from him, damn him. He had said, back at Teiko, that if they were to end up fighting against each other, he definitely couldn’t go easy on Shintarou. 

The things Akashi is saying now. Before the game even started, he claimed that he never said anything wrong, that the “I, who wins everything, am always right.” And he is getting worse as the clock ticks down towards zero for the second time. So arrogant and dismissive. It is almost ridiculous, Shintarou thinks, being looked down upon by a boy twenty-two centimeters shorter than him.

When Akashi finally gets serious in the second half, finally switches to mark Shintarou instead of having his teammates do it, uses his “eyes,” the game becomes brutal. Swift and brutal and overwhelming and Shintarou is getting the ball knocked out of his hands before he can properly line up his shots, is watching his teammates fall down, is sitting on his own ass on the court listening to Akashi’s condescending words.

He gets up again because of his teammates, sacrifices accuracy for the sake of receiving Takao’s passes and having a chance to score, manages to surpass his limit, receives a “you’ve surpassed my expectations, Shintarou,” and watches Akashi making an own goal just to motivate his team. How horrible, how awful, this is not a board game, they are not pawns. His old friend from the happier days at Teiko is long gone. This is the second Akashi, yet to be suppressed.

And then Akashi announces, “You will no longer be able to even touch the ball again.” 

He claims that he can see the future. Absolutely absurd. But he proves to be right about one thing. Shintarou can’t touch the ball after that. Moreover, he realizes that the whole game was carefully planned ahead by Akashi, that they have danced at the ends of marionette strings all this time. 

Shintarou makes one last ditch effort, standing up again to try to knock the ball out of Akashi’s hands as Akashi’s mouth moves with words that Shintarou can’t understand. His wrist brushes Akashi’s, his fingers curl around air. The ball is already gone. It is sinking through the net. The buzzer is a shrill, harsh sound reverberating off the walls. The scoreboard changes to display the final score: 86 - 70.

“Sleep, Veteran King,” Akashi says.

  


____________________________

  


Shintarou gathers himself together. He put optimal effort into this game: that is what matters. There will be other games, two more years worth of games where the playing field will level out enough that he will have a better chance at beating Akashi. He will be able to say “I’m going to win Akashi” and actually win next time. At least Akashi kept his promise in the end. 

He walks over to Akashi, who turns to him with a hollow “Shintarou.”

Now that he is here, Shintarou isn’t sure what he wants to do. A part of him wants to ask Akashi why he has become so maddeningly infuriating, what he has done with the part of him Shintarou really liked and admired. But this isn’t the time for that. 

Shintarou holds out a hand, says, “I lost. But next time I will,” he pauses, amends, “Shutoku will win.”

Akashi keeps his hands by his sides. His tone is very polite and careful as he tells Shintarou that he can’t accept the handshake. He goes on to say that if Shintarou craves victory, he must become less compassionate. 

“ _Victory_ is everything,” Akashi says, and there is something not quite right in that intense gaze, “let me be your enemy.”

There is nothing of importance Shintarou has to say to this Akashi. He replies, “I see. You haven’t changed, Akashi … from back then.” He waits a beat, for Akashi to acknowledge the incident, for any sign of remembrance really, and when he does not, Shintarou continues, “But even so, we will win next time.” 

He returns to his team. Miyaji and Kimura are crying silently. Kimura has his hand in Miyaji’s hair, trying to comfort him. Shintarou can’t see Takao’s face, only the edge of a frown.

Their captain reminds them to hold themselves together while they remain in front of the audience. They thank the spectators for cheering them on. 

As they are walking out of the gymnasium, Takao tries to joke around and fails miserably. His voice cracks as he says that he can’t comfort Shintarou right now. It hurts to see Takao, always so confident, always so happy, hunching into himself like that, to see the tears on his sunny face. But Shintarou has no words of comfort either, nothing beyond “it’s really frustrating … losing,” his own tears smearing his glasses. 

  


____________________________

  


Shintarou rubs his hair dry, wipes his face, and puts his glasses back on. He has had enough time to grieve. He pulls his socks up and then ties his shoelaces, pulls the ends until they are even. He stands up. As he is zipping up his bag, he spots the shogi piece wedged into a corner. Lucky items rarely work with Akashi, if ever. Shintarou sometimes wonders if he is deluding himself with Oha Asa, how long he is going to need this particular crutch. 

What bothers him the most, he decides as he is buttoning his jersey jacket, is not the outcome of the game but Akashi’s attitude during and after it. Shintarou is accustomed to being treated as a joke by other people, but Akashi was kind to him at Teiko, never made snide remarks about Shintarou’s “eccentricities.” And while Akashi wasn’t in the habit of asking Shintarou for advice, he valued Shintarou enough to spend free time with him, to think through his thoughts out loud with him, to delegate club duties to him. It hurt, more than a little, to be treated so dismissively tonight.

 _Let me be your enemy_ , Akashi said, but he didn’t treat Shintarou as one, only as a nuisance, an annoying but minor obstruction that had suddenly sprung up on the familiar path of victory. He had said, “Shintarou, you are strong. But you’ll lose. Who do you think was leading you guys?” before plowing past him.

It could have been worse, of course. A repetition of their game against Meiko, the 111-11 score. A charade of a game. Akashi used to have an honorable work ethic, but he proved in their last year at Teiko that he was willing to sacrifice it for the sake of winning. Two of the star members of the team needed entertainment as an incentive to play, so Akashi let them have their way with those point-scoring competitions. He allowed all of them to skip practice whenever they wanted. 

What a shame, Shintarou thinks as he walks towards the gymnasium where Seirin has just finished playing Kaijou. He remembers walking down the halls of Teiko with Akashi in their first year. He had been so happy to meet someone who was like him, another boy who was smart yet studious, who took himself seriously. Who didn’t get bored with a game just because he was better at it than everyone else he knew. 

Shintarou also appreciated the differences between himself and Akashi. Akashi was better at conversing, did not seem to annoy anyone when he delivered platitudes. His clichés were well received by girls and boys alike. He wasn’t perfect at everything (for example, the first and last time Akashi invited Shintarou to an archery pitch, Shintarou hit the X-ring 50 out of 50 times, while Akashi scored 45), but Akashi had enough sprezzatura to convince people otherwise.

Shintarou has never disliked going to school, there is no point in liking or disliking what one must to do, but it became something to look forward to when Akashi was his closest friend. The foolish behavior of his classmates was easier to ignore when he reminded himself that lunchtime, when he could see Akashi again, was in a few hours. Or that the school day would end soon and then he could join Akashi in the gym or (particularly after Nijimura had stepped down from his position of Captain) in an empty classroom where they could discuss club matters while playing shogi. 

He wants that Akashi back, and he is sure that Akashi will change for the better after losing an important game. It will teach him that even though winning is important, it is not something that one should define one’s life by.

The only two people left to deliver that lesson are Kuroko and Kagami, and perhaps they are more suited for the task because they have lost important friends in their life, have had to play against them in this very tournament. Kuroko was so very close to Aomine, light and shadow, playing basketball at Teiko as one unit. He is very close-mouthed, but after Shintarou gives Kagami a hint about what Akashi is like, thus igniting his curiosity, Kuroko can be counted upon to tell Kagami the important parts of their Teiko story.

  


____________________________

  


Rakuzan loses at the end, and Shintarou watches with bated breath. It is too far away to see Akashi’s facial expression. Last year Akashi said that he was curious about what it feels like to be defeated. Well, there he is, defeated. 

He is going through the motions, winding down from the game, congratulating the other team, as all players must do. He isn’t crying. Surely that would attract the attention of his teammates. They are in the habit of treating him with much more affection than his Teiko teammates did. 

He will be okay. This game was good for him. Shintarou had been worried, on arriving from his own unsatisfactory game with Kaijou, that Akashi would stop playing altogether, walk off the court. But Akashi has played an honorable game. Now he will know how much it hurts to lose after giving a game your all, and also that it's not the end of the road, not when you have others there with you. That the loss can be used to improve oneself further, leading to a more appreciated victory.

He looks good, the red hair glowing under the bright lights of the gymnasium, the blue-and-white jersey neat and in place, the elegant, contained movement as he walks across the court. Shintarou is eager to see how Akashi will change in the future.

  


____________________________

  


On the first day of the new year, Shintarou sends Akashi a text. A simple Happy New Year as he does every January 1st. Unlike the other years, Akashi does not reply. 

He may be traveling with his father and too busy to respond. Shintarou considers asking his own father to confirm, but it’s none of his business and the question would sound odd.

But he does not hear from Akashi all that week. He feels an odd itch in his palm whenever he looks at his cell phone. There is a possibility that Akashi did send a message but it was lost along the way. Technology is a fickle thing.

“Why are you scowling at your phone, Shin-chan?” Takao asks, pushing a chair up against Shintarou’s desk and breaking Shintarou out of his reverie. “Texting Kise again?”

“Mind your own business.” Shintarou returns his phone to his bag and then opens his bento box. It is only Monday. His classmates are very loud today, talking about their weekend exploits. 

“Aww, don’t be like that.” Takao pouts as he tries to snatch food from the box. “Hey, didn’t your mother teach you to share?”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Takao chews, swallows, says, “Let’s go eat up on the roof.”

“It’s too cold, fool.”

“You’re cold too, Shin-chan. Brrr. I’m starting to think that you don’t like me. And after we became Shutoku’s light-and-shadow pair too!”

Shintarou sighs. Next year is going to be one long trial. He misses the seniors already. They were good at keeping Takao under control. Now Takao is the captain of the team. Too much power in the wrong hands is dangerous for all involved.

“Shin-chan,” Takao says in a sing-song voice. “What have I said about taking your frustrations out on others? It’s not my fault Akashi won’t text you back.”

Shintarou almost drops his can of red bean soup. He places it carefully on his desk, before asking, “What did you just say?” 

Takao picks up a piece of tamagoyaki, continues, “Wouldn’t it be better to give him some space? You know, let him lick his wounds and stuff.”

Takao has many faults, a lack of the sense of self-preservation among the top five, but misreading people is not one of them. He is a point guard after all. And it goes beyond that. He is actually very good at interpreting social cues, at understanding people and the way they work. 

Shintarou feels the need to say, however, “Akashi has never lost at anything before.”

“What could you possibly say to him that would make it any better?” Takao replies. “Anyway, didn’t you want him to lose?”

“Yes, but.” Shintarou looks at Takao for a moment. “It’s complicated.”

“Ohhh.” Takao winks. “It’s that kind of relationship, huh.”

“Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And here I thought you were into older women.”

“I am. Stop talking, Takao. You have food stuck in your teeth.”

  


____________________________

  


Give him space, Shintarou reminds himself in the fourth week of January. Akashi is prone to sweeping, dramatic gestures like cutting off his hair in public and offering to gouge out his own eyes. No doubt he is secluding himself from the world as a tactic to garner attention and sympathy. How childish. How arrogant of Akashi to think that he could never lose at anything, how immature of him to think that he can just drop all of his old friends now that he has lost. 

Shintarou misses him though. In the second week of February, he sends another text, this time a brief how are you.

Akashi replies a few minutes later: 

**I am busy with preparations for my final exams, as you should be as well. I am also most displeased with you for telling Kagami that there are two of me. I do not wish to speak to you.**

Shintarou stares at the text for a few minutes, mind blank. And then he jabs a finger into the reply box, types: 

**I did not tell Kagami just to gossip. And I am not the one who told him the whole story. I told him to ask Kuroko. I wanted him to be adequately prepared so that he could defeat you and bring back your old self. I have no regrets.**

After exactly one minute, Akashi replies: 

**I thought I told you I don’t want to talk to you. What old self? You’re an officious busybody who needs to mind his own damn business. Goodbye.**

Shintarou puts his phone away. The tips of his fingers feel numb for some reason, and the fried chicken he ate for dinner is churning in his stomach, and he feels like there is a vise closing around his heart, squeezing and squeezing. 

He has finished all of his homework for the weekend, and it is merely 8:19 PM. He goes downstairs and sits down at the grand piano in the living room. His parents are at a party, and his sister is upstairs playing a video game. No one will object to him playing at this hour.

He hasn’t touched the piano in weeks, and there is a thin layer of dust on the fallboard. He wipes the dust off with a tissue, deposits the tissue into the trashcan in the kitchen, washes his hands, returns to the living room, withdraws his tuning kit from the cabinet under the TV, takes out his tuning lever, and gets to work. 

  


____________________________

  


Three separate classmates roll their eyes at Shintarou before lunch hour, Kise calls him a bossy meanie over the phone at lunchtime after Shintarou says that he won’t scan his notes on Charles Dickens and send them by email, the math teacher sits down angrily in his chair and tells Shintarou to take over the class after he points out an error in the teacher’s calculations, and one new starter cries during practice. Takao frowns as he leads the sobbing freshman away. 

While they are changing back into their school uniforms, Shintarou tells Takao, “You have to develop a thick skin to live in this world. You can’t fall apart just because someone tells you to that your dribbling is abysmal and that a monkey could do a better job.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that kid will develop a thick skin soon enough.” Takao grins. “There’s no helping it, with you on the team and all.”

“Am I that horrible?” Shintarou asks, curious.

Takao blinks up at him, smile frozen in place. “Never mind,” Shintarou says, reaching for his bag.

“Hey, don’t get the wrong idea!” Takao grabs the strap of the bag. “You’re not _horrible_ , Shin-chan. Weird, yeah, but not horrible. You’re our weird guy. What’s up with that question all of a sudden?”

“I’m going home.”

  


____________________________

  


He misses the organ he used to play at Teiko. The music room too. It had a wide collection of instruments. Shutoku, while a disciplined, strict school, is also old and rather underfunded. The cheap piano in the music room here needs to be repaired. 

At dinner one night, he broaches the subject of procuring an organ for the home, perhaps as a gift for his upcoming birthday. Perhaps for his outstanding performance on last term's exams (although the victory feels uncertain; he had been looking forward to comparing results with Akashi to properly gauge his achievement, but that is not a possibility any longer; he misses the competition; he feels a lot more sympathy for Aomine’s plight than he ever has before). His parents refuse immediately, telling him that organs are too loud and melodramatic and that he should be preparing for his entrance exams.

After the school year ends, after he has bid the seniors goodbye and actually received a hug from Miyaji with no accompanying words of reproach, he has about two weeks of leisure time for music. He sits down at the piano every morning after his parents leave for work, selects an easy score to warm up, and then plays his way to the more difficult ones. 

He is fine the first few days, still getting back into the habit of playing, but his mind starts drifting on the fourth day. He remembers Akashi in the music room at Teiko, always at a distance but watchful, smiling a beatific smile as Shintarou played. Murasakibara sulky and getting crumbs all over the floor but not grumbling for once because Akashi wanted to listen to the music. Akashi sitting on Shintarou’s bench, only once and at the very edge of it, gaze intent on Shintarou’s fingers. The breeze wafting through the windows, cooling Shintarou’s feverish skin.

He starts playing by ear, a theme song from the video game his sister has been playing for a week now. He is halfway through the song when his sister rushes into the room, dressed to go to their neighbor’s house, tears streaming down her face. 

“That is just too sad, Onii-chan,” she wails, throwing her arms around his shoulders. “That song plays whenever something tragic happens to the main character! Who broke your heart?”

“You’re being absurd. Remember, don’t stay too late at-”

“You’ll be okay,” she says, rubbing her wet face into his shirt. “You’ll find someone who will love you for who you are. And I love you. So don’t be sad.”

He pats her on the back, says, "Thank you."

"Play another tune. A happy one, alright? A waltz! For me as I exit the stage."

She straightens up and poses like a ballerina, gives him a cheeky grin. He sighs. She used to be a cute little baby.

“What happened to saying please?” he says, as he locates his sheets for Chopin’s Waltz No. 1 Op.18.

“Please and thank you, my dearest older brother.”

He begins playing. She twirls out of the room, arms around an imaginary partner. He continues playing even after the front door closes. He wishes, quite suddenly and foolishly, that he could wear his heart on his sleeve like his sister does, to be as generous with his love. That it wasn’t so hard to say what he felt, that he could let himself feel without getting embarrassed.

  


____________________________

  


Takao nags until Shintarou agrees to go to the library with him. It is Friday, so it won’t hurt to pick up a few novels for leisure reading. And Takao’s cart is useful for carrying books. 

After they reach the library, Takao heads for the periodicals section, and Shintarou walks over to the New Literature display. There he finds Kuroko, humming to himself as he crouches in front of the bottom row of books. 

Shintarou remarks, “Judging by your relaxed attitude, it seems you are getting along with Aomine again.” 

Kuroko says, as he stands up, “How are you, Midorima-kun? It’s been awhile.”

Takao arrives, hands empty, curiosity palpable in the air around him. “Oh, it’s Kuroko,” he says. “Hello there. Hope you’re ready to lose to us in the Inter-High.”

“We’ll see,” Kuroko replies. 

“I’m not joking,” Takao says, with an exaggerated sigh. “Shin-chan has been practicing more this year than he did last year. He only agreed to leave the gym after I said I would take him to the library. He really needs to get a life.”

“Shut up, Takao,” Shintarou says.

“But the tournament hasn’t started yet?” Kuroko glances once at Shintarou before fixing his attention on Takao.

Takao leans in, whispers, “He got dumped by your former captain and has been wallowing since then. He’s not as anal about his lucky items and Oha Asa as he was last year either.”

“I am not wallowing!” Shintarou protests. “And I haven’t been dumped. Akashi and I were friends. And the lucky items-”

“Were,” Kuroko comments. 

Before Shintarou can correct himself, Kuroko continues, “Oh, is that what happened? I’m so sorry, Midorima-kun, I didn’t know Akashi would take my comment that badly. I thought he would be happy to hear that you were concerned about him.”

“Bad call,” Takao says. “You should fix it. Call him.”

“There’s no need,” Shintarou snaps. “And you’re the one who said to give him space, Takao.”

Takao stares for a moment before saying, “That was ages ago, Shin-chan! Text him again. Persistence is the key.” 

Shintarou wonders why people think that he is hard to get along with when there are people like Kuroko, Takao, and Akashi in the world. He focuses on the novels in front of him so that he can quickly pick a few and leave.

  


____________________________

  


Shintarou watches the ball sink into the net on the far side of the court. That makes 100 baskets. He wishes he could score as accurately and successfully in his personal relationships. He rarely has regrets after a basketball game.

He re-tapes his fingers, locks the clubroom door, and then heads home. Perhaps he has been wallowing. He needs a proper conclusion, or he is going to feel miserable for a long time yet.

He doesn’t want to have regrets about Akashi. Yes, Akashi told him not to contact him again, but that was out of anger. Akashi is in the habit of keeping himself at a distance from others, so of course now that he feels hurt and confused he has withdrawn even farther into his shell. He needs someone to reach out to him, probably. At the very least, someone should try.

Shintarou takes out his cell phone and types: **Can we talk? Please?**

  


____________________________

  


He has just turned off the main street when he hears a familiar “Midorima.”

The voice is surreal in this time and place, and Shintarou tries to remember what Cancer’s ranking for the day is as he reaches for his lucky item. His fingers close around air. He takes a deep breath and then turns around. 

Akashi is crossing the street, approaching him. So, he read the message Shintarou sent last week. A phone call would have sufficed.

Shintarou adjusts his glasses, lifts the strap of his school bag higher on his shoulder, asks, “What are you doing here? You couldn’t have come without skipping your afternoon classes.”

“Good evening,” Akashi replies. “How are you?”

“It’s impolite to visit people without prior notification.”

“It was a spur of the moment decision. Don’t worry, I’m not going to your house.” He motions towards an inconspicuous black Toyota, parked by the side of the road. “I have to return to Kyoto tonight.”

Shintarou looks at him, and Akashi stares back. The eyes have not changed, still heterochromatic, and Akashi’s face is as impassive as ever. But he is using polite speech again and addressing people by their last names.

“How are you?” Shintarou asks.

“Still standing,” Akashi replies. “It’s a bit of a relief, actually. I have lost, and yet I am still here. You look well.”

Shintarou is so relieved to hear this, he agrees without protest when Akashi suggests that they have dinner together. During the drive to the restaurant, they make polite conversation about the weather. 

After they find a table at the diner of Akashi’s choice (a rather ordinary, busy establishment: customers keep flitting in and out; many order takeout), Akashi adjusts the sleeves of his white sweater and stares out the window at the people passing by. His bangs have grown out again, and his face looks thinner. His sweater looks very soft and nice. White always complemented him.

Their orders, just a large bowl of tofu miso soup for them to share and a pot of green tea, arrive. The silence is growing uncomfortable, though it is a better alternative to Akashi’s smug speeches. Shintarou finishes his soup before saying, “I’m going to get straight to the point, since we have to return home. Perhaps it was selfish and officious of me, perhaps I shouldn’t have told Kagami about you, but I wanted you back, the Akashi I first met at Teiko. You are my precious friend.”

Akashi colors faintly. Shintarou can feel his own cheeks heating up. He has never called anyone a “precious friend” before.

After a long moment, wherein they both drink their tea, Akashi says, “Well, Kuroko would have told him anyway. I am not sure how much of the other me has returned though. Or what that really means.” 

Shintarou says, “I know you will figure it out. All of it. Take your time.” 

When Akashi does not respond, Shintarou clears his throat, says, “Inter-High will be interesting this year, yes?”

“You haven’t said that you will definitely beat me this time,” Akashi remarks. “That’s alright. I have lost, so of course you think less of me now.”

“What are you talking about, Akashi?” Shintarou can’t believe this is the same Akashi he talked to less than six months ago. “One loss doesn’t mean I’m going to think less of you. You played an outstanding game.”

“You were right, you know,” Akashi says, looking out the windows. “I shouldn’t have talked like I knew everything when all I’ve ever had was victory. There are many things I don’t know.”

Shintarou is suspicious for a few seconds. Is Akashi trolling him? Is this where Akashi starts laughing and ends their friendship once and for all? 

The minutes tick by, and Akashi continues to stare out at the street. Shintarou has a horrible thought. Maybe this is Akashi’s way of saying goodbye to an old friend. This could be the last time Shintarou sees him. 

He reaches out and closes his hand over Akashi’s wrist. Akashi’s arm tenses. Shintarou squeezes the wrist bones, says, “Listen to me, Akashi. You can’t define yourself by how many games you have won or lost. I have reassessed some of my prior opinions on the subject, and I know now that while a certain degree of competition is healthy, there are also more important things. Getting good grades. Camaraderie. I will never think less of you whether or not I ever beat you at anything, and I hope you will return the favor. I’ve been wondering how you did on your exams. I want to play shogi with you.”

He considers saying, it has to be you, it’s no good if it’s not with you, but he has already said too much. His ears are burning. He feels ridiculous. But he is also a little glad that he said what he did. It would be much simpler for the present and future to give up on this friend, to love another, but maybe they can make it. Shintarou will try his best, slowly and steadily, and have faith. 

However, holding onto Akashi’s wrist for so long is probably too bold a move for the moment. He is about to pull back when Akashi puts his free hand over Shintarou’s. It is a bit calloused and very warm, Shintarou notices after he has recovered.

Akashi says, looking straight at Shintarou, “You’re very good to me, Midorima.”

Shintarou pushes his glasses up, trying to quell his blush, replies, “Call me by my first name. There was no need for you to have stopped that.”

Akashi smiles, that quiet little smile Shintarou used to see in the music room, or over the shogi board, quiet pleasure at the corners of his perfect mouth, his eyelids lowering over his lovely eyes. He says, “Then, you should call me Seijuurou.”

“Um. Maybe one day.”

Akashi’s right palm, still curved over his hand, is heating up quickly from a combination of Shintarou’s body temperature and his own. Shintarou carefully withdraws his hand and then clears his throat. He has butterflies in his stomach. “Would you like to visit my house?” he asks. “My mother won’t mind. We can play a game of shogi before you have to leave.”

“Yes,” Akashi says. “I would like that.”

“Great. Good.” Shintarou gets up and almost trips over his chair.

Akashi says, “Perhaps I should take something for your sister. How about a cake? I heard children like those. I will bring something nicer next time.”

“There’s no need,” Shintarou begins, but Akashi is already walking back to the register. 

Shintarou pushes their chairs in and follows. He will buy a few cupcakes for Takao. The queue in front of the baked goods counter is long and the diner small, so he presses close to Akashi. The sweater is as soft as it looks, and Akashi’s hair is clean and minty in scent, and he can see the white, even line of Akashi’s teeth, and when Akashi turns to speak to him, Akashi’s breath, slightly bitter from the tea, touches his skin, and he wants, he wants.

“Were you always this quiet?” Akashi asks. “Tell me what you have been doing these past few months. Are you still playing the piano? How are your classes going?” He leans back against Shintarou.


End file.
